


I Was Never There

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Love Triangles, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Marriage, Obsessive Behavior, Plot, Political Alliances, Sad with a Happy Ending, Smut, Switch Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Switch Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Top GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: George and Dream have been secretly together for months, but Dream has promised his hand in marriage to Fundy for a political alliance with L'Manberg. Dream has no idea what to choose, and neither does anyone else when he starts falling for someone he never expected...
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	1. Love My Way

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! :)  
> This is a little AU fic taking place on the SMP, where all the plot is the same until Wilbur blows up L'Manberg. Once Phil kills him, it changes a bit; Tommy never burns down George's house, Dream never builds the walls around L'Manberg, and Tommy never gets exiled. To ensure that Dream won't harm the nation anymore, Phil and Ghostbur ask Dream to accept a union with Fundy, Ghostbur's son and Phil's grandson. Dream accepts, and George, who has been with Dream secretly for months, is falling apart. 
> 
> Will have lots of smut, but a strong plot too, some fluff, falling in love, etc. Probs about 8-10 chapters, if everything goes well with the writing!  
> Hope y'all enjoy <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 - Love My Way by the Psychedelic Furs  
> In which one simp falls deeper for someone who does not have the capacity to love him in the same way, and hurts everyone else in the process.

Dream thought he might never get tired of lying next to George. 

There was so much that just seemed to slip away when they were together. The worries, the stress… everything that weighed Dream down every day just disappeared.

Sun filtering through the vine-covered windows of George’s little mushroom house, time seeming to stop just for the two of them. Dream often wished that it did.

But, reality was hard enough to face without fantasies clouding his vision, so Dream pushes that to the side and tries to be that distant, sex only friends with benefits guy. But the friends with benefits guy that’s been fucking his best friend that he’s been in love with for years. 

All while being in a contractual engagement to another man, a foxy Dutch one, whom Dream liked, but not nearly in the way that Fundy loved him, or the way that he liked George. 

There he lay, one arm propped up behind his head, leaning on the textured bark headboard of George’s bed, the other snaked around George’s waist. 

George himself had his head nestled in the soft skin between Dream’s neck and collarbone, one leg slung over Dream’s legs as though to make sure that he was still there.

And though his chest was starting to ache, Dream didn’t think he’d mind lying in this position for the rest of his life. He watched as George’s eyelashes fluttered restlessly, and stroked his cheekbone gently. 

“Awake so early?” He asked, pressing his lips to George’s temple affectionately. 

George grumbled groggily, muttering something unintelligible that sounded a bit like “your chest is too bony.” 

Dream laughs as George blindly looks for his hand, trying not to look into the sunlight, and moving his hand away when he gets close. 

Coincidentally, (not coincidental at all) George’s hand, while scrabbling all over the place, seems to settle right on Dream’s left hip. Dream raises an eyebrow as George rubs circles lower and lower down Dream’s side. George stares up at him with innocent eyes and just the slightest quirk to his smile. 

“Hmm?” He hums, leaning up to kiss Dream as his hand slips down to it’s destination. Dream kisses back, softly, making sure he tilts himself just slightly so he’s right in George’s hand. 

He curls his fingers into the back of George’s thick, dark hair, groaning quietly against George’s mouth as he slowly strokes Dream’s nearly soft cock. George smirks and pulls away, an amused expression on his face. 

“You need me that bad already?” Dream rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to quip back, but George claps a hand over his mouth before he can respond and sits up, slinging one leg over the younger man’s lap to straddle him. George snorts at how fast he feels the blanket beneath him rise. 

“Well. Aren’t you just my little bitch, Dreamie?” He cooes, leaning forward to connect their lips again. Dream turns away, feigning annoyance. 

“Shut up, nimrod. You try staying soft when I sit on your bare dick as soon as you wake up.” Dream scoffs. George grins and tilts his lover’s head back to face him, feeling like he could conquer the damn world with the control he has over the beautiful man under him. 

“Awh, you know you love me.” George says, boldly. Nearly as soon as the words leave his lips, he wants to punch himself in the face. 

Here he is again, crossing the unspoken boundaries of being with someone that’s engaged to someone else. Not that it matters that George would do anything to be the person Dream would stand next to on that altar. 

Dream hesitates for a second, but smiles tightly and gives George a peck, shuffling out from under him and kicking the covers away. George cracks a little at the look on Dream’s face, the hesitance in his response. 

Had George been able to accurately interpret that look, he would’ve known that Dream wished with all his heart that he could tell George that he did indeed love him back. 

But the near war circumstances… their relationship… the fiance that was waiting for him… the best that Dream could manage to get out was a strangled noise of agreement to make up for years of unrequited want and adoration. 

“Uh huh.” Dream reaches for his discarded watch from the bedside table and buckles it around his muscular wrist. 

He playfully ruffles George’s hair with one hand, and George can’t help but feel a bit like an overly adoring dog chasing after an owner. 

“I’ve gotta go, Georgie. Gotta handle some shit with Wilbur and Phil down in New L’Manburg. Not really completely sure where the hell Phil came into the equation, but...“ 

Dream shrugs, sighing at the door while trying to tug one leg of his starchy jeans up. George tries to shake all the gushiness out of his system, tries not to imagine Dream with his arm around Fundy as they cut a wedding cake. 

He clears his throat, feeling miles away from the euphoria he’d had frm just being with Dream just a few minutes ago. 

“Phil, uh. He… co-parents Fundy with Will now? Right?” George asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as Dream pulls his shirt on. 

“Something like that. After Wilbur did the whole blowing-up-of-l’manburg thing and Phil… killed him, I guess Ghostbur had to agree to stay close to Fundy? Dunno. He gets to live with his dad and grandpa now, so, I guess that’s what this is about. Plus, um. We have to talk about divorce terms, like- prenuptials…? So if Fundy and I ever want to split ways. We… have a way to?” Dream laughs, feeling kind of hysterical and disbelieving of the whole thing. George blinks.

If? He’d always assumed that once things cooled down with L’Manburg that Fundy and Dream would either call off the wedding or dissolve it. After all, the whole thing was a political marriage, made to ensure that the two sides had at least one common thing to value. 

There had never even been any doubt in his mind that as soon as Dream had the chance to leave, he would. It seemed like Dream had other plans. 

Sensing the shift in George’s mood, Dream kneels next to the bed and touches his forehead to the other’s, arms snaking around George’s hips.

“Georgie?” He asks quietly. George presses his forehead back, dips his head just slightly to the side when Dream tries to kiss him. 

He offers the best half-hearted smile he can, tries to harden his eyes and push Dream out of his system. He almost hopes that Dream notices, and knows that he has when the corners of his lips tremble just the smallest bit. 

“You should go.” George says, trying not to look at Dream, rather pressing his mouth to Dream’s jaw so he doesn’t see the dejected look on his face. 

“We wouldn’t want you to be late for wedding planning.” Somehow, pent up jealousy seems to spit itself through George’s words, coming out with malice George barely even knew he had. 

Within a second, the warm arms around George are gone and Dream is standing again, towering over George and facing the door. “Dream, look, I didn’t mean--” Dream whips around, cutting him off.

“You think I like what I have to do to keep the peace? Spending my time signing fucking agreements and walking around with Fundy trying to pretend that I love him back like I should, when I’d much rather be walking around with you on my arm?” He hesitates, breathing hard, hands outstretched in wild movements. 

“I. I just-- I would be with you all the time if I could, George. I would, I would a million times over, I’d do anything in my power to be able to.” George knows what’s coming. 

“But I can’t.” 

“But you can’t.” George says, in unison with Dream. Dream’s mouth opens, as if to say something, but closes again, staring like a beached fish out of water. George reaches up and pulls his face down to him, running a thumb down Dream’s soft lips. 

Dream’s heart breaks as he sees the glistening of tears in George’s dark eyes. George touches their noses together and squeezes his eyes closed as a tear runs down his face.

He tries to squeeze the hurt out, the fantasies, the pure love he has for the man standing in front of him. Love that he just cannot seem to give up on, even though he knows it’s all so wrong. Dream rakes his fingers through George’s hair and shakes his head. 

“George.” He croaks out, barely able to talk. George wipes his tears away with the back of his hand and strokes Dream’s cheek, as if to say, “there’s nothing you can do.” But it doesn’t stop either of them from knowing that really, if Dream was willing to lose everything for George, they could be together. 

But he won’t. He can’t. And Dream knows, staring at his love’s red face and tears and quivering mouth that he is the one that made him feel like this. Words cannot fix the hurt and mistakes now. George smiles sadly and shakes his head, and Dream whimpers. 

“I know.” George says quietly, kissing Dream with all the energy he has left in him. Their arms tangle together and within seconds Dream is on him, hands all over his chest and George’s legs around his hips. 

George lets out a breathy moan when Dream presses his knee against the thin fabric of his boxers, and Dream thinks it may be the best noise he’s ever heard. The room, sunlight now filling the walls, is full of hard breathing and little whines as Dream pins George’s arms to the bed and grins.

“Dream… what about--?” He trails off into another groan as Dream quickly pulls down his boxers and starts trailing kisses down George’s body. “Jesus-- don’t you have a meeting... ?” 

“Fuck that,” George helps tug Dream’s shirt off and throws it and the discarded boxers on the floor. “You’re all I need to worry about.” He leaves hickeys down the dark happy trail of George’s lower torso and hesitates as he reaches his cock, looking up at George with big eyes for approval. 

Heat spreads through George’s chest at the look on Dream’s face, muscular shoulders, the parted wet lips inches away from his tip. George smirks, playfully. 

“Take it away, lover boy.” He cooes. His entire chest shudders as Dream takes the entirety of him into his mouth and hums around it. 

George reaches shakily to hold onto the headboard with one hand as Dream grips at his muscular inner thighs, slowly hollowing his cheeks in and out around George. 

Deep, guttural moans sliding out of George’s throat without any consciousness, and George pulling at the roots of Dream’s hair, relishing the little grunts that the tugs earn from the blond. 

Dream runs his tongue over and over George’s tip, pushing George closer and closer to finishing straight down his throat. 

“Dream--!” He gasps, struggling to get more than a few words in at a time. And then suddenly the warmth around George’s cock is gone, and Dream’s face is eye level with him again, grinning mischievously.

“Fuck you, fucking tease…” George mutters, yanking Dream down and kissing him, hard. Dream smiles against the others’ lips, biting gently at George’s lower lip to make it swollen and red. 

“Oh yeah? What else am I, Georgie?” Dream says softly against George’s teeth, digging for the lustful side of George.

That George was often his favorite, the one that had fucked him in the middle of the community house with the door open, solely because Dream had slapped his ass. George can already tell what Dream is looking for. 

“Mm, I know what you want, you little slut.” George whispers against the bottom of Dream’s ear. Dream nearly moans at the sheer tone of George’s voice, all deep and smooth and ridiculously sexy. 

George, though significantly less built than Dream, easily flips them over and pushes Dream into the mattress. “I bet you’d let me take you without any prep too, huh? My little bitch forever, yeah, baby?”

At that, Dream does audibly moan, quickly kicking off all the remaining clothing and keening under the pressure of George’s body against him. “Lucky for you, I value your ass, so we won’t do that now.” 

Dream snorts and runs his palms down George’s pale, lean torso as George reaches for the almost-finished bottle of lube from his bedside table. 

“Now? If I’m reading your tone right, I’d say that you’d like to see me crying and bent over like an unprepped mess as soon as possible.” 

George looks down at Dream skeptically, slathering his dick and index finger in lube. 

“Shut up. I’m not even gonna bother giving you more than two fingers.” George slides a finger into Dream and kisses at the slope of his jaw, receiving more than a few gasps and whimpers in exchange. 

Wasting no time, George has two fingers in, working him open wide enough only as to not hurt him from full thrusts.

Not in a bad way, at least. George isn’t particularly long, but he’s reasonably wide, and is perfectly aware of where and how to get Dream going.

He’s had enough experience with him, as well as practice from his decreasingly occurring hook-ups with Sapnap. 

“George, more, please..!” Dream groans, desperately scratching at the tight skin on George’s back. 

George obeys, removing his fingers and pushing his tip into Dream without a warning. Dream already has an overbearing amount of pent up energy and sexual tension that is going straight to his dick, and he is not in the mood for slow sex. 

“Please, George, more?” George grins at that, pushing himself almost completely into Dream with one lone thrust and two simultaneous groans from him and Dream. 

Sensing that Dream is comfortable, he puts both hands on his hips and bucks into him, starting at a consistently slow rhythm and increasing his movements and speed with the urgency of Dream’s moans. 

Long, pale fingers and palms latched onto Dream’s waist with such pressure that he is sinking into the mattress. Nothing in Dream’s mind can stick around for long, the deep strokes and soft body pressing onto him chasing every and anything out. 

The only thing Dream needs is the beautiful man above him, all raised cheekbones and gentle stubble shadowing his soft jawline. The strong motion, the press of George’s weight as he rocks into him. 

Similar almost to an ocean’s current, harsh but loving, the sound of high pitched whines and pleases and gasps as George grazes the spot he’s been searching for. Dream leaves long, raised scratches on the lightly freckled skin of the chest that is pushed flush against him, runs his hands down George’s sides, exploring the body he’s grown to know and adore.

At one particularly loud groan, George quickly presses his lips to Dream’s, both of them struggling to kiss each other as George’s hips stutter. He gives up on Dream’s lips and instead tucks his flushed face into his lover’s neck, letting out one last, guttural moan of Dream’s name as he finishes inside him. 

He fucks Dream through it, before suddenly pulling out and bending down to wrap his lips around Dream’s dick. Dream grasps at his hair, pushes his hips up, thrusts into George’s mouth as he cums down the back of his throat. George chokes it down, nearly gags, and leans back up to kiss Dream immediately, to which Dream quickly turns his head away, giggling. 

“Gross! No!” He gasps, breathy wheezes combatting the hard panting previously filling the room mere moments ago. 

George grabs his face and slides his tongue into Dream’s mouth, grinning, face red and shiny. Dream sputters on George’s lips, but eventually settles as Geeorge gently strokes the side of his face.

“Salty.” He muses, after George has pulled away, receiving a snort in return. 

“‘Ts what you get when you cum down my throat without a warning, asshole.” Dream rolls his eyes, ruffles the dark hair of the man beside him. 

George turns on his side, stares at the curves of Dream’s eyes, his nose, the slight bump in the middle, how his lower lip’s profile is perfectly even with the top lip. 

He stares, scans, and feels like he falls in love all over again, flashing back to the day he met Dream, introduced to him by Sapnap one humid summer night at the yearly boys beach bonfire. How the flickering flames lit up the left side of his face in a warm orange light, all sharp shadows and angles and subtle green eyes that seemed to glow when looked at. 

The same green eyes that peered at him curiously now. 

The same eyes, same bare, lithe legs, same freckles, same slight cleft in his chin. Dream tilts his head, mouth quirks like George is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

“Where are you, Georgie?” He asks softly, searches for answers in George’s dark eyes. Wonders what he’s thinking about, what world he might be in. 

George breathes out his nose, closes his eyes, thinks. Thinks about everything, every moment, every mistake, every hurt, every time they’ve made love. Where is he? 

He is in love, purely. Pure, unadulterated, unconventional, unconditional love. And oh, are there so many conditions, so many things that he wishes were different. 

So truly, where is he? He is lost. Lost on what to do if Dream gets married to Fundy, leaves him behind, forgets about him. Lost on Dream, drunk on Dream, obsessed, infatuated, disabled with the searing emotion that he is swimming in, the emotions that he just cannot bring himself to say out loud.

George is in love, but he does not know if the one he loves is able to return it. 

Where are you, George? He repeats in his head, replays it in Dream’s voice again. George opens his eyes and smiles at the beautiful man beside him innocently, adoringly. 

“Right here, Dream.” Dream reaches for his hand, thumbs over the slender digits of George’s fingers, of his knuckles. George squeezes back. “I’m right here.” He repeats, softer.  
Dream smiles, shallowly almost, like there are things that he, too, is thinking about, but cannot explain. 

He turns away from George, looks at the beams and the gentle light on the ceiling. George keeps Dream’s hand held, even when he knows that Dream has fallen asleep again. 

Where am I? He thinks. 

I’m right here, Dream. Can you see me?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 - Like You Do by Joji  
> In which enemies butt horns and one is more upset about it than the other.

Tommy is screaming again. Chasing after Tubbo with a shiny, freshly sharpened netherite sword that he’s just snagged from Phil, to “kill chickens” with. 

His shrieking somewhat sounds like he’s saying “I like” in Spanish, repeatedly, but Fundy honestly has no idea. It’s often hard to believe that the boys are going to be adults in not too much time. 

He checks his watch for nearly the third time in the past minute. It’s 12:34pm. A quiet noise comes from behind him, nearly causing Fundy to slip right off of the roof that he is sitting on, knees slung over the edge. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s Phil. 

“He should’ve been here two hours ago.” Fundy says, quietly, sounding dejected and distant. The shuffle of flip flops, a grunt from Phil as he kneels down next to his grandson. 

Fundy doesn’t turn, keeps his eyes glued on the two headless chicken-like boys that are still hysterically chasing each other around the L’Manberg cabinet podium, knocking over Karl’s seat while weaving through the chairs. 

“He’s probably just slept in.” Phil reaches to grasp Fundy’s shoulder, to offer a reassuring smile and insist that Dream has not purposely missed such an important day. 

He sniffs, turns his arm away, buries his face in his knees. There is a pity-filled sigh from behind him, to which Fundy nearly screams at. He doesn’t want pity, or falsely comforting assurances. He wants his fiance to show up on time for events that he promised he would come to. 

He wants his fiance to care more. 

Rather, he wants to see if his fiance cares at all. Cares about him, cares about L’Manberg. Cares about something. Cares, likes, is as fascinated with Fundy as he is with him. He wants, he wants, he wants, but it does not come. 

Dream does not come. 

The watch beeps, loud and blaring and intrusive, signalling time for lunch. Lunch that Dream was supposed to eat with them, after they all discussed the marriage terms over coffee. Fundy, in a sudden fit of frustration, fumbles aggressively to unbuckle the clasp of his watch, rips it off his lean wrist, and flings it into the coral-filled water below the stilts of New L’Manberg’s platforms. 

Phil opens his mouth to exclaim something, to scold Fundy for such a rash, dramatic action, but decides against it. He knows that his grandson is hurting, that Fundy often gets lost in the hurt, wonders where the man who is supposed to be by his side is.  
And wherever it is, whoever he spends his time with, Fundy wonders what is so worthy about them. So much better about them, if they’re the type of person that has things that Fundy can’t offer, something about them that Dream is entranced by, spends his days examining and admiring, rather than being here. Sitting with the person who would give him everything if he just had a chance. 

It aches, knowing that Dream won’t even give him a chance. Fundy turns to Phil for a moment, nods at him as a silent “I’ll be alright,” and briskly hops off of the roof onto the lush overhang of the back hill of L’Manberg. 

He pads away from Phil, walking with soft, nimble socked feet and graceful movements, a permanent dancer-like swagger to his steps, even at a low mood. 

He is tall, reasonably so, about six foot one, give or take, and lanky. Long, just slightly tanned muscular-rippled arms and defined calves that flex and stretch when he treads. 

Again, he thinks. Thinks about what Dream might be doing right at this moment. Is he thinking about what he’s missed? How it rips him apart over and over again, every time he flakes on an important plan? 

Fundy does not even consider the idea that Dream would be in bed with someone else, like he actually was at this moment. Wouldn’t nearly graze the surface of his reality, of how loudly Dream is moaning George’s name, or just how little he’s worrying about the meeting he’s missed. 

Just how little he worries about Fundy in general. 

Fundy mindlessly traverses the wooden ways of L’Manberg, feet carefully navigating the steps that his family and friends so carefully cut, crafted, built. Body carrying him forward through the paths of his home nation, leading him through the hurt, the throb of an empty, fluff-filled head. 

He comes to the door of his house, and shoves it open, tired and drained and wishing that he could go back in time, take back the whole marriage. And suddenly, he is sprawled in his bed upstairs, arms pulling thick down-filled covers over his already warm body. 

It’s hot. It’s suffocating, even. And yet, it's a relief. Like the ache, the pulse of the useless hopes in his head are spilling out of him and are surrounding him physically, rather than inside. 

Fundy falls asleep in the middle of the day thinking about what it would feel like to suffocate under sand, and if it would be easier than not being loved back. 

\-- 

When Dream wakes up two hours later, George is gone. The running of the outdoor shower in George’s backyard is almost therapeutic, puts him right back to sleep again. 

He knows that he can’t, though. As late as he may be, he should probably show up to L’Manberg, at least try to make some shitty excuse about why he wasn’t there. 

Dream pulls his clothes back on, tries to somewhat tame his hair with water and a comb. He immediately musses it back up, feeling like a snob. 

“Baby! I’m leaving for L’Manberg!” He calls out to George, hesitates in the doorway waiting for a response. There’s a muffled “See you later!” from outside, that Dream chuckles at.

He leaves the safety and warmth and sweet vanilla smells of George’s house and steps over the pond, walks down the path towards the nether portal. Dream feels trapped. 

Put in an important position to accept an important alliance. An alliance required to fix the mistakes that Dream made before. All of them, Schlatt’s presidency, abandoning Pogtopia, helping Wilbur blow up the nation that so many people loved so dearly. 

So many mistakes, yet Dream couldn’t help but wonder if in the future, George would be one of them too. Just another mistake that Dream would hurt people with and regret and have to fix. It hurt, to think about, but that was the reality of being with George. 

Just George and him, alone against the world, nobody else on their side. Was he willing to do that all for him? Give everything up, the chance to make things better? 

It is the most conflicting thing Dream has ever had to choose between, but he knows that he can put off the decision for at least a little while longer. 

He arrives at L’Manburg at 3:30, stands at the notice board waiting for someone to come greet him. Phil stands in the doorway of his house, narrows his eyes at Dream. 

Dream blinks, surprised at the glare in Phil’s gaze, never having really seen him annoyed. He waves, smiles sheepishly, but doesn’t walk closer to the row of houses. 

“Phil! Sorry I’m late!” Dream exclaims, trying to seem lighthearted and apologetic. “I got caught up wi--” 

“You missed everything, Dream. Go home.” Phil cuts off, monotone voice dripping ice. Dream peers around, looking for Ghostbur or Fundy, someone to side with him, assure Phil that they can catch Dream up on what he’s missed.

“I. I’m sorry I missed it. Can-” He trails off, watching as Phil turns to go back into the house. “Can Fundy catch me up?” Dream yells after him, taking a few steps further into L’Manberg. 

Phil hesitates, turns his head slightly, but not enough to make eye contact. His shoulders move slowly, but Dream can tell that he's frustrated. He turns again, walks towards Dream, stopping a few feet in front of him. 

“Do you know how much you hurt that boy? Every time you break a promise, every time you blow him off.” Phil’s hands twitch at his sides, like he’s aching to use some dramatic hand movements or expressions.

“He--” Deep breath from Phil. “He adores you, he does. You, of all people, I’m not sure why, but he does. Please, just. Don’t hurt him anymore.” Phil’s deep set blue eyes burn straight through Dream, and it feels like he knows everything.

Knows everything about George and Dream, all the things he does behind Fundy’s back. And the guilt sets back in, the leftover euphoria from George all seems to seep out of Dream’s body and drips silently into the water below. 

And he feels like shit. Phil stares at him, for a few moments, before turning to look at Fundy’s house, which has a little column of pale steam trickling out of the window. 

“Fundy’s awake.” A slow blink, and Phil walks back into the house, closes the door halfway, and glances at Dream. “Whatever choices you continue to make, Dream?” 

“Make sure you don’t regret them.” 

And with that, the pale, blond haired man has disappeared back into his house. Chills run up Dream’s back. He knows that nobody except him, George, and Sapnap know about his cheating, but he can’t help but wonder how Phil seems to know so much about him. 

Dream winds his way up the stairs to Fundy’s house, slowly, feeling like something is pulling him back, like he’s walking through molasses. When he reaches the door, he knocks. 

There is shuffling inside, the quiet hum of a boiling tea kettle, soft, smooth jazz flowing into Dream’s ears. Fundy doesn’t open the door. 

Dream waits for a moment, knocks again, stands against the threshold of the warm-toned spruce wood, the flower boxes outside the entrance. Nobody comes to greet him, so he puts a hand on the door handle, takes a deep breath, and pushes the unlocked door open. 

Sure enough, there his fiance is, eyes buried in a book, in mid-calf long gray shorts and a short sleeved white shirt hanging off of his broad shoulders. Broader than he’s ever noticed, Dream remarks silently.

“Hey.” Dream says, quietly. Fundy’s jaw flexes, just the smallest bit of recognition at his presence. He licks his index finger, flips the page of the yellowing book in his hands, leans back in the plush, dark velvet armchair that he’s set up in. 

Dream closes the door behind him, leans against the bookshelf next to the doorway, weaves his fingers together, waits. Fundy doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look up. He hesitates.

“Fundy?” 

He finally looks up, peers at Dream with big dark eyes. Big, sad, glassy… and beautiful. Dream’s always thought so, known that Fundy was attractive, knew how easily the grace and the intelligence and the slight sass radiated off of him. But he’s not George. 

George is hidden, a well kept secret, a well guarded personality that very few see and very few could dislike. George is a wrapped present under the Christmas tree.

Fundy is a pre-made birthday card that Dream has had to write in.

Fundy blinks at the tall man that is awkwardly standing at the doorway, watches how his lips part at the eye contact. When Dream says nothing, he exhales, shuts his book, tucks it into the little drawer of his side table.

“Are you gonna stand there at stare at me like a creep or are you here for a reason?’ He says in a flat, iced off voice. Dream’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Ha-! I- wasn’t-” He trails off, seeing the skepticism in Fundy’s eyes. “Whatever. I’m here to get a debriefing from you.” Dream says, trying to sound tough and non-pushover ish. 

Fundy snorts, stands up, strolls right past Dream and to his stove, where he takes the kettle off the fire and reaches up to the cupboard for a cup. 

“A debriefing.” Fundy mocks, imitating Dream’s american accent, receiving a scoff in return. 

“What are you, a child? I just need to know what I missed, and I’ll get out of your way.” The look in Fundy’s eyes almost sends Dream running straight out the door. 

“What are you, a fucking flake?” He hisses. 

Dream recoils, physically takes a step back, opens his mouth to say something before Fundy shakes his head.

“There’s no just getting out of my way. We are supposed to get fucking married. You’re not in my way, you just don’t give enough of a shit to show up for me when something more interesting comes up. That’s on you.” 

He turns, pours the steaming water into a cup, strains his long arms to reach the little tin of tea bags on the top of his shelves. Dream walks towards him, nearly hugs Fundy’s waist as he picks up the tin and hands it to him. Fundy sighs, turns back to Dream, faces inches away from each other.

“Grabbing something for me isn’t gonna fix this, Dream.” 

Dream smiles, almost painfully, watches as Fundy steps away from him and stirs honey and tea leaves into his cup. Somehow, the smell fits him so well, mellow and soft and sleepy. Dream recognizes it, knows that it’s chamomile. Wonders why Fundy is drinking a sleep-inducing tea in the middle of the day. It’s different, seeing the man more unhinged, exposed. 

So unlike chamomile, aggressive and sarcastic. Almost likes it better, seeing the feeling, the proof that Fundy’s still human and not just some flawless robot. 

Dream starts to wonder if it’s him, if it’s always him that brings out the hurt and the anger in people. Searches for something to say that can fix it.

“I know.” A pause. “I’m sorry.” Fundy’s head dips, stares at his cup as his shoulders heave with disappointment. He knows it’s not enough. 

“Where were you?” Dream freezes, wrings his hands together, stares at Fundy’s hair. 

“Just slept in.” He says quietly. Fundy whips his head around, and there’s just the slightest shine in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” Dream nods solemnly, tries so hard to act like missing the meeting was just a simple mistake. Something in the others’ eyes seems off, though. Like he knows something. Fundy laughs, almost barks, voice dripping ice and hurt. 

“Wonder why Tommy saw you leaving George’s house earlier.” Dream freezes, goes for the first thing he can think of. 

“I just had to check in with him.” He hesitates.”He’s… rearranging his house and wanted my help.” There’s a scoff before Fundy blows into the hot contents of his teacup, sits back down in his chair, looks up at Dream. 

“Slept in, huh?” Dream stares at the floor, squeezes his eyes shut. “Psycho war criminal turned little housemaid bitch for his best friend.” 

At that, Dream’s head snaps up, eyes narrow at the smug, annoyed-looking man across from him. 

“Shut up.” He hisses. Fundy just blinks back at him, tilts his head slightly, a condescending smile plastered on his face. 

“Yeah? Can’t handle being called out on your BS?” Dream’s face flushes, arms twitch uselessly at their sides. Fundy shakes his head in exasperation, stands up, tucks his book and glasses under his arm, and starts up the stairs. 

He stops, halfway up, makes eye contact with Dream. 

“You’re a crazy asshole, Dream.” A pause, as Fundy turns away again, looks up the stairs. 

“But I didn’t peg you for a liar, too.” And with that, he leaves, walks up two flights of stairs to the bedroom. 

Dream is alone again, feeling more empty than the room, which no longer sounds like kettles and fluttering pages and smells of sugar and tea leaves. Stares aimlessly at the chair, still imprinted with the shape of Fundy’s back, stares at wet residue on the table from the condensation of the teacup. He stands there, unsure if it was for hours or seconds, and when Dream finally brings himself to open the door and leave, it is raining outside. 

He walks to the community house with a sword on his back, hard rain on his face, and something weighing down his feet. 

Dream walks away. Again. Leaving the one he is meant to love upstairs, having left the one he loves this morning. 

There are two people that love him. That love Dream, no matter how much he seems to leave them. 

And one of the men cries, palms buried into his eyes, elbows leaned up on the windowsill, staring as a tall man in a soaked green hoodie stalks away from L’Manburg and into the fog. 

And the other man lays in his bed in his mushroom house, feeling abandoned. He pulls out a phone, and dials a number that he hasn’t called for in a while. 

Sapnap picks up immediately. 

… 

“George?” 

… 

“Can you come over right now?


End file.
